


to have a theory

by carryonstarkid



Category: Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryonstarkid/pseuds/carryonstarkid
Summary: Requested anonymously: "Catherine and Joe with Zach?"
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	to have a theory

She’s got this theory. She’s got this theory and it is as simple as it is painful—Catherine Goode is destined to be alone. Forever and always.

She didn’t always have this theory, of course. Children are not born thinking that they will never have friends or family or lovers. Children are not born believing that they will live a life with no one to depend upon. This theory stems from a long history of being abandoned and beaten. Of being broken and left to die. 

Catherine Goode was meant to live her life alone. It’s not a choice and it’s not a coincidence. It’s fate. It’s fact. It is a truth, universal.

So she knows, as she looks down at the green-eyed boy bundled up in her arms, that one day, he’s going to leave her too.

A baby, she’s learned, is a spy’s worst enemy. They attract too much attention. Mothers crane their necks to catch a glimpse at faded memories. Children stare, as if communicating with one of their own. Teenagers fawn over a future they can’t yet understand and Catherine’s never felt a glare as strong as the ones that businessmen give her when she brings a small—probably _loud—_ child onto any form of public transportation.

Today, it’s the train. It’s usually the train and it’s always a coach car. Little Zach’s nearly a month old now, and he’s spent more time on the train than off, but it’s a necessity. She can’t afford to stay in one place for too long—not with the CIA riding her ass. Not with the Circle on her tail.

Not with Zach.

She finds herself taking less risks. It’s one thing to put her own life on the line, but it’s another thing entirely to force him into the same situation. She knows she’s going to be alone again someday, but she’s going to do the best she can to make sure that it doesn’t happen anytime soon.

And so she steps onto the train, curls blowing as it lets out a mighty hiss. She pulls Zach in closer, amazed by the fact that even after all of her training—with good guys and with bad—it’s her maternal instincts that are the strongest.

But then she feels eyes on her, and she’s reminded of all the other instincts that she’s learned to listen to.

She tries not to look too conspicuous as she examines the cart. At night, the windows become mirrors and the lights limit the view of the many strangers trying to get home. The energy is always dead—waitresses after a long shift on their feet and lawyers who worked too late. It’s quieter at night too, most people choosing to doze off or listen to music. These are all normal things that she’s grown accustomed to over the past month.

The only thing she isn’t used to, is feeling like there’s eyes on her.

Zach—Zach always has eyes on him. Babies always do, but these eyes are very specifically looking at _her_ and sending _her_ hairs shooting up on end. Someone is watching her, and all she can do is look down at Zach and pray that it’s the good guys.

If there are any good guys left, that is.

She sits. She should do more, but she can’t. Not with Zach. So she sits and she hopes for the best. Her training tells her to pick the third seat on the left. There’s only one person in the seat sitting opposite her, and his nose is too far buried in a newspaper to notice them.

And then she sees them. The eyes.

Joseph Solomon is a man to whom surprises are nonexistent. You should never be surprised, he always tells her. You just have to take the time to notice things.

She can count the number of times she’d been surprised on one hand. One of those fingers belonged to her son, without a doubt, but the other four all belonged to Joseph Solomon.

“If you feel eyes on you,” he says, "then you need to get on another train.”

And then she’s burning, either with embarrassment or anger or both. “I don’t have time for one of your lessons right now,” she hisses, and Zach squeaks. He’ll be waking up soon, and he’ll be hungry. She’s got to find a bathroom on this train or something. She’s got to make sure he has enough blankets. How the hell is someone without any money supposed to afford a winter coat for her baby boy?

Joe’s not thinking about any of this, or if he is, he’s not letting it show. But he’s not. Catherine just knows it. Joe doesn’t have a paternal bone in his body. He’s more of a righteous older brother who always lets her know she’s wrong. “I could be someone bad—someone who would take that boy from you and use him as bait. Is that what you want?”

This time, it’s just anger that fills her. “Don’t you talk about him like that,” she says. “Don’t talk about me like I’m a horrible mother. I’m doing the best I can, Joseph. I’m—I’m—”

And that’s when she sees it. The newspaper he had been reading. _The Washington Post_ , written out in big script letters across the top. She’s in France currently, and it should have been the reddest of flags. They all read _the Guardian_ out here or _La Croix_ or… something. Something. She can’t remember. She can’t think about anything except how cold it is outside and how thin Zach’s blanket is.

“I’m so _tired,_ Joe,” she says, and she can’t help herself. She never can when she’s around him, because he’s the only person in the world that she can cry in front of. “I’m so _tired_ and he won’t _sleep_ and his blanket is—”

“Let me see him.”

“What?”

“You said his name was Isaiah?”

“Zachary,” she says, looking down at the boy, trying to sniffle back snot. “It means… I think it means innocence.”

Joe just nods and holds his arms out to the boy. “You haven’t let me hold him yet,” he says, like it’s this big insulting family drama and not a life-or-death situation. “Let me take care of him for a little bit. You’re not in any shape to be—”

“He’s going to be hungry,” she says, holding on tighter. Zach hasn’t left her arms in a month and she’ll take any excuse to make sure that things _stay_ that way.

Joe gives her that look—the one that makes her feel utterly transparent. “You’re about to pass out,” he says, and she knows it’s the truth. She hasn’t slept in days. In fact the only time she gets to even _sit down_ is when she’s hiding out in a toilet stall, feeding Zach the only food she can provide.

Joe’s got his hands underneath the newborn now, and Catherine doesn’t have the strength to hold on anymore. When he takes Zach, Joe smiles. He’s supporting the head just right, and rocking ever so gently. It’s not his first rodeo, she realizes, but she doesn’t have the energy to ask where he got the practice.

He looks like a daddy. A true, honest to god father. When she looks at him with Zach in his arms, it’s easy to imagine a family. Mom, dad, son. Three parts of a single unit. It’s easy to imagine the extra help and the extra love. It’s easy to imagine Joe teaching Zach how to shave or how to hand off his first brush pass. It’s easy. Like a dream.

That’s the thought she falls asleep to, and she’s got to admit that it’s a nice one. It’s comforting to think that Joe will be around for her little boy. It’s nice to think that Zach will have some sort of a father—however unconventional.

When she wakes up, the sun is shining and the world around them rushes past the windows. The baby’s in her arms again, and he’s crying, and Joe is nowhere to be seen.

She’s got this theory, and it’s as undeniable as it is heartbreaking.

She’s going to be alone.

She’s never going to stop being alone.

And so she looks at Zach, his face red and his cries small. He’s a quiet baby—thank _god—_ but he makes himself known. Makes himself heard. Zachary is very much _there_ , in her arms.

She really hopes her theory is wrong.


End file.
